Beyond Border
by UnAnimo
Summary: For fifteen years he waited for his chance to have a revenge to a man who killed his friend. And he did. But when he thought all ends well, that was just a start of his new hell.
1. Payback

Standing on the balcony, Renji flicked his last fag into the air, watching it dwarfing away. He leaned on the rail, brushing the fine fabric of his suit and snorted... _cost a lot of figures to wear this kind of shit._ He shook his head while unbuttoning it, ignoring if the tattoos would peek out, and glanced the dancing lights about, lining, curving the snaky streets. He used to live in this neighborhood, but now he felt as if he was an alien to a place he grew up in. Though it pained him to remember the days of his childhood, he'd never dreamed leaving the city that made a mark on him. But apparently he must, and since then the world he left behind moved on. Things had changed these past few years. So thus he.

He raked his black-tinted hair away from his face, roamed his amber eyes under blue contacts to the far right of the city, the dimmest part, and sighed deeply. He promised himself to be there, where someone waits for his return, bring the greatest gift of all, and surprise one particular person in the process.

Not tonight, though. Renji had a schedule to follow.

He glanced back at the glass door behind him, and realized he was getting bored. The night is still young, but galas and those aristocratic faces sweeping across the fancy hall made him feel duller even more.

_Pompous ass'..._

He turned his attention to his glass and frowned. Shit, no more wine. No way I'm going back there, he said to himself. The world of infamous personality, politicians and the likes irked him. Not that he has a bad behavior to begin with, he just... well, hates it.

Renji can leave if he wants to, marched through _that_ door, kiss all these bullshits goodbye. However, it took him forever to be here, no way to ruin it now. Another cigarette would do to ease himself. Fuck, if he had one.

He was about to turn around, ask someone inside for a fag, when a voice of a man startled him.

"I see boredom is depleting you."

Oh really. Renji cocked a brow haughtily, but kept his gaze plastered somewhere out there. Either deliberately or otherwise, Renji ignored the gesture. It's a shortest way to say "fuck off."

"Forgive the intrusion..." The man walked towards the lamppost, for it seems this six-footer hunk of a creature in a suit deliberately dismissed his presence. "I hope I didn't disturb you..."

Already did. Renji snorted softly and finally glanced over his right. He saw a man with shoulder-length hair, standing under the light, and Renji had to control himself not to laugh, because, really, the man has pink hair - a color too ridiculous for an adult male. "Can I help you," he asked, lips beaming to a greeting, but not too much to show mockery.

The man waved his hand vaguely and shook his head. "I want to ask you the same thing, though, if you don't mind."

Renji smiled, but as soon the man stood in front of him, arm's length, the smile fades.

The eyes under the silver-framed glasses of the man shivered Renji Abarai. He saw amber. No. Gold, and felt his jaw tightened seeing the likes of it again, anger creasing as though burning his nostrils. The stranger's face appeared to be young and treacherously beautiful. The black suit he wears contrasts the color of his skin. Attraction at first sight indeed, however, for Renji, it was an opposite. In fact, both hands wanted to move voluntarily, and strangle the man with everything he owns.

_But the eyes..._

Renji looked away, hating to see his reflection from those golden orbs.

"Did I frighten you?"

"No."

"Did I say something to—"

"_No_." Renji closed his eyes and bit his lower lip, taken aback by his own reaction. He shook his head and composed himself, force the little smile back. When the man was about to withdraw from the somewhat crude gesture, Renji spoke, and this time it sounded more like a purr. "No. I'm sorry. How rude of me..."

The stranger smiled and offered Renji champagne. "Your glass is empty. Here..." Renji took the glass sheepishly from the alabaster hand, as if he was apologizing. From the start, he knew the man had been watching him since he came out to the balcony. Or better yet, since he stepped inside the premises of this building. Renji's plan is to bait this man, give him what he wanted, and entertain him as best as he could...

Till morning at least.

"Alone, I see," the stranger said, looking about.

"Date runs off," Renji shrugged. "It happens."

"How sad."

"Nah. That's okay. The folks back there thinks I'm insane talking to the wind out here, but then you came and save my day... or night..." who gives a shit. "I owe you, eh?" Shit. Hope that doesn't sound so desperate, he thought.

The man nodded, watching Renji from the rim of his glass. He wanted to say something, but he gazed at the horizon instead.

"You like what you see?" Renji said, almost a whisper, a tease. Fuck decorum.

The man shrugged. "I'd seen it a thousand times."

"I wasn't talking about the stars..."

Caught off guard, the man snickered softly.

Renji inched up a little, lifting the glass to his mouth. "So how about you, someone runs off from you too... Mister?"

"Granz," the man answered. "Dr. Szayel Granz. You can call me by name, though. No sir or doctor, please. I would not allow that kind of formality when I'm outside my profession. It ruins everything. And no. No dates for tonight. No dates for a long time, in fact." He sipped from his glass. "And you are?"

Renji glanced to his right, to the far darkest end of the city. He had to lie. "Kurosaki," he replied, emphasizing the name, as if he wants to tell the man to remember it for the rest of his life. "Ichigo Kurosaki."

"I see."Granz narrowed his eyes for a moment. "Never have I remembered putting you on the guest list."

"_Oh_." Renji laughed. "So you're the host of this boring party?"

Brow rose for the direct candour. "Touché, Kurosaki-san. I like that. However... look over there." Granz motioned to his right where one giant man stood near the threshold of the door, dressed so formal like a pissed-off federal agent, and Renji wondered right away where the hell the large man came from and how he'd got there without making a noise. "You know I have the capability of... what's that word... throw anyone out for crashing my party? Nevertheless, I do sometimes have an exception, Kurosaki-san." Granz laughed softly. "Save for Medazeppi. He doesn't like gatecrashers." He shrugged. "He doesn't like anyone, in particular, in fact. He despised everything that moves." Granz smiled at this, having the presence of his bodyguard really does had an effect on people.

Renji lowered his glass and set it on the table near him. "My apologies, I guess I'm busted then. Want to kick me out now?"

Granz studied him for a moment, scanning him from head to toe. Renji tried to relax from those eyes, of which he noticed, there's a hint of mischief in it. "Well?"

"Are you begging for punishment, Mr. Kurosaki?"

Renji grinned, though he hated that word. "If you want to."

"Really? Do you know who I am?"

"A doctor?"

"I am more than that."

"You cure me, then?"

"That is up to you."

Renji pushed himself from the rail, closing his distance to the man, paused only when their noses were a few inches apart. Between them, a hand raised. "From what I witness tonight..." Renji purred, tilting the man's chin up, "I need your help on the boring department."

"Then you come to the right place."

Oh this was so easy, Renji thought dimly. "And the gorilla?"

Granz glanced towards Medazeppi. The giant man nodded back and opened the glass door.

"Do not worry about him," Granz said, leading Renji towards the door. "He's harmless."

"And the party?"

Granz smiled over his shoulder and winked. "What party?"

* * *

><p>Renji gazed up the walls and frowned. The plaques and the recognitions complicate his eyes. Dr. Szayel Aporro Granz was a known surgeon and a popular one too. Books published under his name, and his methods used all over the country. Genius and a skilled medicine man, but Renji just sneered, sitting on the couch, beer halfway to his mouth. He doesn't give a monkey's ass what this man all about. "Russian?"<p>

Granz glanced up from the bar. "Hm?"

"Granz. Is it Russian?"

"Romanian," the doctor replied.

"You don't sound like one."

"You've been in Rome? You travel a lot, I see?"

Renji smiled. Yeah. Executive whore... and other things. "If opportunity presents itself."

He wandered his eyes again. The house was huge; doors, doors, doors! And the room was bright - too much light, as if he was in a studio shooting a film. To the far corner, he saw a katana displayed behind the glass casing. It caught his attention, though the antique vases, paintings and odd furnitures are far more expensive than the worn-out, jet black sword. "What's that?"

Granz holding a glass sat beside him "Zangetsu."

Renji quipped a brow.

"Zangetsu," the doctor pointed. "The name of the sword."

"Oh..." Renji whistled. "Impressive."

"Yes. It was an antique. It played a big part in history."

"Killed a king, something like that?"

"No. More like... boys. A sacrificial blade."

It was a deadpan answer, and Renji turned away because his irriation shows. "That's... creepy."

"It's an antique."

"Still creepy."

Granz laughed. "Forget it. More beer?"

"No thanks." Renji glanced at his watch. "We should getting down to business."

"Impatient, you are."

You have no idea. "I prefer long hours, if you don't mind," Renji said enthustiatically. "And believe me you needed it."

Tilting his head, Granz snickered. "Really. Then what do you prefer, Kurosaki-san?"

"Ichigo."

"Sorry. What do you prefer, Ichigo?"

Renji stood and inched closer, then, slowly, pulled the other man up. Face to face, chest to chest, Renji grinned and started to unbutton Granz's shirt.

Granz took the hint. "Ah, that's more like it." He grabbed Renji's wrist long before it reached the fourth button. "Bedroom."

"Thought you never ask." Renji stepped back, lips curving into a naughty smile. "Lead the way."

* * *

><p>Medazappi mentally groaned when his attention suddenly caught by the rhythmic thump from the master's bedroom. Hesitating at first, then, fuck it, he stepped closer and wad his ear to the door. Besides he never heard such a chant from Szayel before.<p>

"Yeesss... Oh fuck yes! Harder... like that... don't stop, don't stop!"

Medazappi gulped the lump down to his throat. Boy, his master was indeed chanting.

"Deeper... Yes! You're good at this aren't yah...! Yeah, yes... Like that! Oh god yes!"

"Are... you sure... you're all... right." Medazappi creased his brows hearing Renji's voice. He doesn't trust the man.

Another thump and Medazappi jolted back, scratched the back of his head and walked away. If his master is having fun, then the Master is A-Okay.

* * *

><p>The shadow behind the door was gone, inch by inch swallowed by the lights outside. Renji grinned. Gorilla gone. His eyes flicked back to the man squirming under him. <em>The show was about to start...<em>

The bed linen skewed, looking like a wild tide beneath the hail storm. Pillows thrown away, here and there. For the first fifteen minutes, the doctor holds the pillow with his dear life, till he decided he doesn't need it anymore. Renji let Granz enjoy the fucking ride of his life, yet twitching his lips from the chattering mouth who moans and curse like a possessed whore.

_Beg, you motherfucker_.

"Please..." Granz gasped. "How long..."

"It's for you to decide..." Renji grinned.

"Now. I want it, _now!_"

"You sure?"

"Fuck _yessssss!_"

Renji, holding the hips, pushed deeper, making the man under him wiggled like crazy. He shifted to solidify the thrust, to reach the other man's peak, and Renji's gaze began to burn, fingers digging the skin, red lines and markings. There's no lust from the beginning, pretencious bastard he was, only the dark scheme writhing inside his mind.

Then...

_Time's up_.

Granz glared over his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Shh..." Renji pulled the man to his chest, hand palming the neck, mouth to ears. "Trust me..."

Granz relaxed a little, his muscle eased by the caress of that hand, closing his eyes again.

"Don't you remember the name..." Renji started as his one hand reaching something under the sheets. "The name you breathe, the name you cursed a while ago?"

Granz was too busy tasting the delicious body grinding behind him, hardly heard or understand what Renji was saying.

"Are you a good boy now... or still the bad one...?"

Granz froze. "What?"

"The name," Renji whispered. "Ichigo Kurosaki? Ring any bells?"

"I'll put it on a check. Now stop teasing and finish what you've started."

"_Wrong."_

Granz's eyes snapped open, alarmed by the use of that tone. He'd engaged himself in games too, but the young man grindding his rear played differently. This _is_ his house, _his_ rules, and before he could amplify that, his neck gripped by a large hand.

"I waited for fifteen years to do this."

There's something on that voice made Granz shivered. He pulled away, or trying to. What the fuck are you talking about, Granz wanted to say out loud, but not until he felt the stinging pain below his collarbone... and the wetness that goes with it.

The thrusting stopped. Renji stopped, and the doctor could hear the silent laugh behind the back of his neck.

He reached up where the hand Renji rested. The younger man was holding something cold, and for a while Granz thought it was a joke... until he saw red.

His eyes began to wide. Renji withdrew and shove him to the bed, but not before turning him around to face him.

_Blood._ There's blood, and Szayel Aporro Granz knew it was him who's bleeding.

"Yes, that's right," Renji grinned as if he was possessed. "Don't worry, you're not gonna die... not yet at least." He jerked his head at the door when Granz flicked a glance at it. No shadow there, ain't that nice? "Fucker probably playing around with his dick somewhere..." Renji huffed. Medezzepi is too busy fucking his own hand by now, or perhaps shooting his load on walls already. Poor fucker. "Can't blame him, you sounded like a needy bitch a while ago." Renji stretched his legs and began stradling against Granz's thigh, locking the man in place. "See what sex can do to men? Too bad, eh? God must have laugh his ass off building that area." No mockery, it's just that he didn't believe there's an invisible friend uptairs.

Eyes flickered, confused, frantic, Granz's lips moving, but no sound. Renji leaned over.

"What? Oh..." he snickered. "_Why, _you say? - now that's a funny question. Let me enlighten you, then." Renji pulled Granz closer. He's killing the man, yet it was like having sex again. His voice dropped into a murmur. "Let's start with Ichigo Kurosaki. Remember him? How about Shuuhei Hisagi? Doesn't sound right, does it? Or what about me?" He knew those eyes... the eyes doesn't lie. Granz was too surprised... or Granz really didn't care who's who back then. "Ah, I see," Renji regarded the man. "Names don't matter to you because back then you're so _fucked up to remember everythin_g_!_"

"I... I duh... I duh... don't..."

"You _don't?_" Renji peered, wiping the blood staining his cheek - a move which Granz recognized, but can't decide which one. Too many young boys had sucked his dick. "Now, try harder."

Granz shook his head, disbelieving. Of course he remembered. He lure young boys as a fancy hobby, offering them everything a money can buy. Pretentious angel. He sheltered pretty young lads from the street, clothe and fed like what the Witch had done to Hanzel and Gretel, and then drugged them when he thought they were ready. Unlike Grimm's Fairytale, Granz's doesn't do happy ending. The lads were shut off for the world outside - only to implore what hell on earth feels like.

And that's the legend of Syazel Aporro Granz and _his_ collections. The Boys. Brunette. Tangerine. Crimson. They are all dead as he knew. Especially that fouled mouth kid with orange hair. What was his name...

Memories started to dawn, and Granz's golden eyes began to wide. _Ichigo Kurosaki._

_And this... this... this is..._

Renji doesn't have to strain himself to guess what's inside other man's mind - Granz _knew_ who he was. "I told you I'll be back," Renji drawled, then gripped the dying man's neck. He grinned as his fingers felt the pulse, getting weaker. "One mistake you'd made. _One._ And that is letting me live._" Kill him over and over till he's satisfied. But it's not enough. There was never enough. "_How does it feel to be literally impaled now, you sick fucking_ son of a bitch!"_

Renji pushed the blade even further, watching the man squirms as he did_. A_nd before he could pull the blade away, or wait for the weeping man to answer, Dr. Szayel Aporro Granz spurted blood from his mouth and tumbled backward. Dead.

Renji glanced at the lifeless body for a few minutes, and then pulled the blade finally from the dead man's body, wiped the blood clean, stood up, picked up his clothes and walked away, simple as that, like nothing happened.

When he came out of the room, there's no gorilla at the main balcony. Or the hall. Or the stairs. Medazeppi was nowhere to be seen inside the house. The giant man was dead, Renji assured himself. He saw Medazeppi beside the pool, laying face-down, eyes wide open. Back at the gala, Renji thought the gorilla was a tough nut to crack... guess he was wrong. Gluttony killed the ape, and Renji made sure the poison would work wondrously according to his time frame.

He walked across the hall, taking his time, looking for something to... _Ah! there it is._

_Zangetsu._

He lunged up and pulled the glass cover, took the katana from the wall and wrapped it carefully inside his jacket.

For fifteen years, he waited to bring the sword back.

Zangetsu can now go home to his real owner.

The owner who died fifteen years ago...

_Ichigo Kurosaki._


	2. The Redeemer

**A/N: This chapter contains scenes and situations that for some readers may find objectionable and offensive.** I**f you find my work a little odd for you, how the story goes please, don't take it seriously. I just want to write, okay :) My works are ****unbeta'd****, so all mistakes are mine.**

* * *

><p><em>Fifteen years ago...<em>

The dark room smelled like copper. Four walls stained with blood. There was a young man in the middle of the room, arms spread eagle-like, feet bound in chains, piercing his skin from his flesh. He was stark naked, hair disheveled, panting, breathing perceptibly, as if the stinking air around the room was the most precious thing on earth.

He knew he would end up this way, his fate would reveal soon, perhaps in an epic fashion. _The sons of bitches love to do a show, anyway. _This doesn't bother him. He doesn't care about it anymore. Through the years he learned the facts of life: _we all live and we all die,_ simple as that.

Fuck them all, he doesn't give a shit if he's a suicidal... but he will never ever let go of his last breath for nothing. And though he was in pain now, there's a mocking smile plastered on his face. As if this whole macabre ordeal was a big joke - not unless the dozen prying eyes watching him on the other side of the two-way mirror enjoying it, he had to change his mind otherwise.

But if his hands were unbound, he'd probably raised a fist and middle finger in the air.

"My patience is nearly drifting, my boy..." A grappling voice sounded around the room, followed by a static feedback from the speaker. "This is your last chance."

_Heard that before..._ the young man bit his lower lip, for each time he said nothing but gibberish response spewed from his lips, the wire clipping upon his breast and around his neck jolted him over to give him an agonizing pain. But then again, it gains even a more audacious repose, and they hated that even more.

_Bring it on, asshole!_

"What? I can't hear you. Speak louder."

He was tired. His mind was tired. The pain alone was tired to be inflicted; there's nothing on his body could place the pain itself. It's been three hours since he was dragged inside the room, blindfolded and drugged, and someone came after that - only to beat him to a pulp, clubbed him, whipped him after violating his body, as if like the tormentor was deft or really doesn't give a damn because he was just a piece of shit. The young man knew who his tormentor was, and the torture was just part of the show. He could have fake the _rape_ session while counteracts with the script, but apparently, at this very day, the act alone, and the reason, was undeniably different. The beating was not some kind of erotic foreplay before the grandeur finale. It was a punishment. He had done something very unthinkable he has to go through all of these as the price.

However, the price was nothing to him. They could beat him up for a week for all he cares and still his mind would not break. For how many a time the same question was asked of him, the answer was always the same. _Fuck you._

Then suddenly he snorted... And after a few moments, he laughed. Loudly. He laughed as if there's no pain to cause him to shut up. "I zeid bringithown... hasshole!"

On the other side of the chamber a man stood, hands clasped to his back, face relaxed while watching the audacious youth keenly with his soft brown eyes. He was called the Director, and as the puppeteer, he should have applauded to himself for he knows he had done a good job of bringing up a good show today. In between punishment and the macabre exhibition, the cast, or, as for this show's feature, the youth's Punishers was given the privilege to "do as you like" impromptu-style, to show the reason why the patrons needed to increase their bidding. However, the audience behind him felt the lacking. There's something missing in the picture. The Director knew what it was, or who it was. The clock is ticking, that every now and then his eyes landed on his watch. The goal to break the young man was nowhere near successful. This will cause a formidable insult to his stature.

"Again," he said, ordering the man sitting in front of him to press the red button one more time.

"He will die if we keep this up, Sir."

"I don't care! _Again!"_

The sound of the microphone died, and the thing happened next was the one thing they all expected.

The brown orb of the boy's eyes disappeared, pushing itself under its lid. His mouth spewed white, whilst blood coming out from his nostrils. His body became rigid, his muscles' stiff. The voltage passing through the wire to his veins torments his entire being. And the pain constantly changed. It should numb him by now, but no. The pain seeped even into his soul.

"We can do this all day, and there's a hundred buttons here to choose from," said the man behind the speaker. "So don't get so cocky."

"_Fuhckyou__!"_

"Where are they, and please answer it now since I am bored pressing the same button for four hours."

"We dontyah blow me... yah good at it, _riiiight?"_

"You're one stupid boy!"

"Henim glad tuh disappoint yah."

Silence lingered for a moment, all eyes on the Director. The ten patrons sitting behind raised a brow at him as he glanced back at them. Humiliation, humiliation...

"Szayel." The brown-eyed man called, voice fuming.

The white suited man stepped forward. "Yes?"

"We're wasting time. See to it that our guests here see where their money's worth. Do what you have to do."

Though it was dark, the devilish grin showed upon the face of the pink headed man. Szayel purred. "Love to."

The lights turned on, brightened the room, and the steel door started to open. The young man slowly lifted his head and saw a vague image of the tall man with _fucking pink hair_, whom he expected to see, standing right in front of him.

"Hellooow mothafukah... finally yah showed up..."

"You know why I'm here, don't you?"

"Yeah. Tell me, exactly haw many times duh I have to tell yah guh fuck yurselves?" He shifted a little to lessen the pain from his left rib, his breathing was harsh. "Lemme give you insights though, since yah'r persistent: perhaps and probably halfway tuh the authorities now tuh whip yur ass."

Szayel giggled, flipping his pink strand away from his face with practiced ease. "Oh dear, is that all you've got? No one can touch me, my sweet insignificant fool. Haven't you learned? Police, you say? I owned them, if you must know. In fact one of their chiefs is here, watching you. Try another one."

"Why don't yah just leave themmelone, yah already had me! Leave them be!"

"I can't do that, you know. I wouldn't aloud my pets wandering around without a leash; it's against the law of sanitation."

The young man heard a soft giggles behind the speaker. Pets. _Pets. _They considered them as pets!

He snarled. "Wur not animals, yah freak!"

"Who says you have to be?"

"Em going tuh kelyah!"

"Oh please, you can't even lift a finger." He stepped closer and lifted the boy's chin. "Now, I'll ask you one more time - and trust me I'm getting bored here. And you know me, I'm nicer when satisfied. Where is..." He jolted back, as he felt a sticky reddish slime landed on his face. Golden eyes narrowed, lips thinned, Szayel wiped the spit away with the back of his gloved hand. _"Fuck!"_

"Halreadydid," the young man said, then he laughed wholeheartedly. But his cackles stop when Szayel yanked his hair, forcing him to glance up. "Want more?"

"No, but he does - _Medezeppi!"_

From the corner of the young man's eye, he saw a large man walking towards them. Szayel released him and stepped back. A crack of a whip was sounded after - was it really the whip or the sound of skin tearing from the flesh?

The young man screamed; the whip landed countless times across his back, thighs and arms.

Szayel grinned; the whip has thorns.

"Enough!" An impatient voice came from the speaker. "End this now, Szayel!"

"Glad to," Szayel said levelly. He turned to the boy. "Well it seems the show must come to an end. Too bad I have no time to fuck you." He turned away and faced the wall. "We admired your courage, my boy. And I like that in a man. However..."

The sound of steel was next, echoed to the wall and back, and the young man's eyes began to wide.

_Zangetsu._

"I don't like you. I don't like your guts. If you can't tell me where they are..." Szayel raised the blade above his head. "Hate to say this, but you have to die."

"W-wait…"

"Oh what now?"

"Lemme say goodbye first..."

Szayel sneered. "Whatever."

Tanned pained eyes lifted towards the ceiling and smiled.

_Goodbye you two… remember me._

Blood splattered the floor, splattered the white dress of the man who wield the sword. It doesn't bother him, though. He likes to see red.

And, at the same time, he likes to see heads rolling beneath his feet.

* * *

><p>Up at the ventilating system, a voice was mimed, shutting by the used of two hands. Tears rolled down his cheeks, mind screaming for the name as he saw his friend's tragic death from the slit hole of a cramp space. There were two of them who witnessed it, arguing silently if they should surrender themselves few hours ago to save the other. But their friend, who took the anguish and pain and death, would never forgive them if they did. A tug from the torn sleeve woke his reverie, and Renji saw two moistened dark eyes of Shuuhei, pleading him to move. It was hard for them to leave but they must. By morning they'll be back to fetch the body of Ichigo Kurosaki, dumped somewhere by the lake, or by near highways, or by anywhere. Wherever will be, they are going to find him and they don't give a shit even if it's in hell.<p>

The whole night of running and walking made their bodies numb, their eyes sore and dried, no more tears to cry. No one spoke nor tempted to ask what each other felt; their feet do the talking. At the young age of fifteen, they know death was mandatory, but taking lives of a simple boy was unfair. Ichigo doesn't deserve his own end, nobody deserves each ends especially if taken by force. Renji halted abruptly and huddled down, recalling the brown eyes staring at him thirteen hours ago. Shuuhei pulled him up without a word, saying silently they have to go on, move somewhere safe and rest. Soon hunger will deplete them, least rest would regenerate them. An hour later they found themselves sitting beside an empty road, browns and greens dancing, rolling in front of them. A deserted area, they assured, but every place has a name and from where they sat they have no idea where they are.

"Any time now..."

"What?" Shuuhei glanced at Renji. It was first word they said to each other since their escape. "Any time what?"

"Some vehicle should appear anytime..." Renji chided his chin towards north, where roads dwarf away from where they sat.

"And then what?"

Renji wished it was a rhetorical question. "We must go somewhere, anywhere but here."

"But what about..." Shuuhei bit his lower lip. _But what about Ichigo?_

Renji stared at the dirt in front of him, as if there's an answer there or a note he could read. "I'll bring him back. I promise I'll bring him back."

Shuuhei nodded. "We," he said, and wrapped his arms around Renji's shoulder. "We're going to bring him back. Both of us."

Renji looked at him and nodded in return. They sat there head upon the shoulder of another, waited till the sun goes up again.

* * *

><p>"Is he alright?"<p>

Renji ignored the voice and thought he was just only dreaming. His body was so weak he can't even tell if he's sleeping or - against his will - dead.

He tried to open his eyes but the bright light blinded him and decided to shut his eyelids tighter.

There were shadows. Three shadows to be exact, and one of them began to move to his side, brushed his crimson hair away from his face and touched his cheek and forehead.

"Can't believe you'd survive this, kid," these were the last few words he had heard when he felt his body was lifted from the dry soil he'd been sleeping for the past two days.

_They_. They were they_, _two of them. That's right! _Shuuhei! Where's Shuuhei?_

Recalling about his friend, he jolted up. There were heads turning towards him but to his astonishment, none of them owned the face he was looking for. Then his amber eyes started to roam, searching and searching. It was dark now, his entire body was succumbed by the dark interior of some kind, but he can still feel the warm afternoon from the half open window, where he can see the contrast of the browns and gold of the desert. He was in a limousine.

"You're safe, kid. It will be all right."

Renji turned, followed the voice. There, sitting not far away from him was a man, and sprawling next to the man was the familiar form of Shuuhei, sleeping peacefully. The sight was so comical Renji forgot what question he should ask first.

"He told me," the man said, motioning his head towards Shuuhei, "to wake him up after you. Should I?"

Renji shook his head.

"Are you brothers?"

Renji shook his head again, and though it was obvious the man knows the answer speaks more volume than shaking heads.

"What is your name?"

"Why?" Renji knew it was rude to ask something like that, especially to someone who rescued them from the brink of death. But the man was a stranger, and so was the man who asks his name before, the one who sheltered them, feed them, nurtured them, enslaved them, fucked them and then throws them into the brothel to sell their youth and innocence. The one who killed his friend was also a stranger like this man and Renji doesn't know if he can trust a living, breathing person again. _Asking his name?_"Fuck you, how's that?"

Renji felt a movement behind him, and within the blink of an eye, the man with the silver hair grabbed his neck and shoved him to the side.

"Stop it."

Renji tries to get away, but those hands were strong.

"I said let him go. _Now._"

To Renji's surprised, the hand around his neck loosened. He was coughing hard when the fare-headed man spoke.

"I told you to leave them behind."

"It's not for you to decide, Gin. You were once like them."

"No I'm not, Sōsuke. I'm telling you this one is a snake. Who knows what wit they had learned from an empty space."

"That's enough, Gin. Don't start with me."

This man, this called Sōsuke, Renji mentally noted, there's something about him. Though his voice was soothing to the ear, soft and calm, there's a certain iron will in it.

Because when Renji glanced back at the man who choke him a moment ago, jaw tightened and eyes glaring, has now shied away.

"I apologize for my friend here," Sōsuke said. "He was just... doing his job."

"Your friend?" Renji asked.

"And my assistant." Sōsuke leaned forward, revealing his features. Soft brown eyes, pointed nose, thinned lips. Renji awed by what he saw up close, especially when those lips beamed a little.

_He looks so... young._

"I will not ask your name again," Sōsuke continued. "You can tell me when you are ready."

"And... who are you, guys?"

"We're just…" he waved a hand, "Business man. I am Sōsuke Aizen, and this is Gin Ichimaru - don't worry he doesn't bite. And that one is..." He laughed. "I forgot our chauffeur's name, silly of me. He's new. Hungry?"

Renji just stared.

"Of course, you are. Gin?"

"What?"

"Give the boy something to eat."

"Why me?"

"Cause I'm telling you to."

Gin growled silently and lowered his upper body. He took something from the cabinet Renji thinks it was the fridge. "Here-" Gin shove a Bento box to Renji's chest. "It's all we have left. Your friend here eats like a coyote."

Renji stared at the food, then to Sōsuke, who nodded back. "Go ahead," he encouraged the young man. "After that, rest, sleep. I'll wake you when we get home."

Renji blinked. "Home?"

Sōsuke nodded. "Yes. Home. We are going home."

* * *

><p><em>Fifteen years later...<em>

The sun peaked between the blinds and the bright pencil-light beams directly to the now contorted face of Shuuhei Hisagi.

He lazily lifted his arm and eyed his watch. Fuck, he's late. Why did he ever think of drinking last night? He should have declined the invitation of a client, who thought of him as a genius by inking their whole body with an image of a mermaid. Never mind that; he had a massive headache to think about first.

Wincing, he grabbed the phone and dialled a number. Busy. Try again. Still busy. _Goddammit. _The busy tone irritates him. Shuuhei groped his face and sighed deeply. Patience is a virtue, patience is a virtue. It's only a freaking phone, for God sake! _Use text message, you moron!_

Tossing the phone away, he saw the clock above the bedside table. The red needle had stopped -_the hell__?_- out of battery! Groaning, he pushed his body from the bed and dragged his wobbly legs to the bathroom. He turned the shower slowly like a safebreaker, then yelped as the cold stream darted his body. The phone, the clock, the shower, none works with him perfectly these days.

He strode downstairs and went straight to the kitchen. Shuuhei's apartment was too big for him. A bachelor, yes, but the whole floor was too much. He had casual roommates before but that was long gone. Shuuhei is a private man and he cannot implore himself that much to strangers. Trust was the last thing on his list.

Passing the hallway, he noticed the TV was on. He winced; he had too much booze he forgot to turn it off last night.

Wait. _Did I really...?_

He shrugged and opened the fridge, grabbed whatever food his rumbling stomach craves. Soup, he needs soup.

There's none. His schedules' piled up he forgot the groceries. _Okay, so let's go to basic then._ His throat was sore and his taste buds became useless from alcohol; he needed a kick. Anchovies? No way. Ah! Bacon, that's good. He was roaming around the kitchen routinely and ten minutes later, his buttered toast, bacon and eggs, are ready. He finished his breakfast with two cups of coffee and Advil.

Shuuhei glanced at his watch again as he smooth the last morsel from his plate. Ten minutes before ten. He nodded. Good thing his shop was only a block away. While shoving the dishes inside the dishwasher, his ears wad at the sound from the living room. He jolted - felt like he was dumped by a pitcher-full of ice water - as the Flash Report bounced from the corridor:

_"... Breaking News: Well known Surgeon and philanthropist, Dr. Szayel Aporro Granz, was found dead inside his residence..."_

Shuuhei dropped the dishes, it was smashed to the floor. _What..._and ran towards the living room, hitting the volume like a deft man of war. The doctor was murdered inside his mansion. His body was found inside his room, partially skinned and swimming in his own blood, blah, blah, blah, Shuuhei didn't give a shit about the details, all he wants to know was is it all true.

And it is true. The timid lady, the anchor, who's showing her serene face while reporting, as if the news bores her, says so. How about the conclusion? And who is the killer? _Enough talking shit, spit it out for god's sake! _He's getting pissed about how the story was told, as if the death itself has no basis, as if the doctor was just another victim of some sort of robbery. He was skinned and that was a robbery? What, is that how the tripping goes these days? _Bullshit._

He pulled his lazy chair and grabbed the phone. He was halfway to dial a number when the face of Dr. Granz emerged from the screen, along with his awards and recognition, his ridiculous pink hair, his golden eyes under the silver-framed glasses, glimpsing at the camera like a saint. Fucking psycho... Shuuhei was between throwing the remote or the phone towards the TV. Grave anger started to seep his veins. That man, _that sickening man!_

Finally he turned the TV off. His chest tightens. He should have killed the man long time ago, and now someone out there had done the job for him. He felt envious, guilty, ashamed. Granz doesn't deserve to die at the hands of a neophyte crook, whose only goal is to steal whatever glows around that fucking mansion, to supply their addicting needs. Granz was in a wrong place at the wrong time, and that was stupid.

Fifteen years. _For fifteen years,_ Shuuhei suffered the memory. That fucking bastard deserves better than this. If he had a chance to gloat the man, Shuuhei would surely nail the freak to the cross, or rip his freaking head off, hacked his body into million pieces, then feed them to the dogs!

But it was too late. No one can bring back the dead to be killed again.

Shuuhei dropped his head forward, palming his forehead. What a waste.

Then... wait. He snapped his eyes open. _Did she say they found him inside his room naked?_

Abruptly, Shuuhei run towards the drawer, where the small calendar was displayed.

January twenty-first.

_I see... _

He fished his cell phone from his pocket. He had to cancel today's tattoo schedule. Then after ridiculous reasoning, promises and jest to the person holding the other line, he hanged up, grabbed something from the drawer and run towards the door.

_Took you long enough, you sly son of a bitch..._

The Fox has returned, and Shuuhei Hisagi knew why.

* * *

><p>Drawing closer to the mausoleum, flowers in his hand, he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. He's here. He ran to the Paveway and pushed the door wide. He ignored the loud bang as the door hit the wall behind it. His eyes squinted to the dark chilling place of the mausoleum. He frowned. No one was there except for the marble base where the sealed casket was rested.<p>

_Fool. You're imagining things..._

Puffing a breath, he walked towards the tomb to lay the flowers. "Sorry about that," he said and smiled at the encrypted name on the side of the tomb. "The keeper must have left the door open after cleaning the place." He sat on the marbled floor and drew his legs towards his chest, something he always do when he was alone. Patting the edge of the tomb, he said, whispering, "How are you, Ichigo? Been busy these days" – he looked around. No vandals. Good. "Hey guess what, I have news for yah. Dunno if you want to hear it, I have my hard time learning it too but—"

Shuuhei jerked around and drew his gun - Glock .19 - and aimed to the dark ends of the mausoleum. There was a shadow there, he can sense it. "Who's there?" He inched forward, eyes narrowed. "Show yourself."

Shuuhei heard a soft snort, and a few seconds later the sound of footsteps came. He lowered his weapon as the image of a tall man with long crimson hair and tattooed skin appeared in front of him.

_Renji._

"Hello, Shuu. Nice reflex, by the way."

No words came from Shuuhei. Although this is the one he expected, still it gives him a great deal of surprise.

He looked away. So thus Renji. They became silent for a while. And when Renji stood beside his friend, Shuuhei fisted his hand and gave him a square in the jaw. The redhead felt his neck snapped as his head flung sideways.

Keeping his balance while massaging his jaw, he looked straight into Shuuhei's eyes. "What the fuck is that for?"

Panting, Shuuhei said, "That's for leaving me behind, you bastard!"

**TBC**


End file.
